Barrett
by Donofan
Summary: In which I get tired of the Marshall-bashing on IPS and try to give him the friend he deserves.
1. Chapter 1

Barrett

Author's note: I was getting a little tired of the constant Marshall-bashing on the show and decided to find him someone who's worthy of him. Leave my favorite character alone! He's anything but a doofus! Oh, yeah: no infringement is intended by my use of characters and situations, only pure appreciation for a great show.

The first time Marshall saw her was at the Trader Joe's near his apartment, where he had stopped on the way home to pick up a couple of things. Actually, that was the first time he touched her, too, because they both reached for the same block of cheese at the same moment and bashed knuckles.

"Sorry!" He shot her an embarrassed look and backed up a step.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I was just trying to find a Cambozola that didn't expire in three days." The tall brunette who looked to be about his age flashed him a half-smile and then went back to poking through the pile, flipping them over to find the one with the latest date. "Have you tried this one yet? It's my new favorite cheese. The name 'Cambozola' is an amalgam of..."

"...Camembert and Gorgonzola," he finished for her. "It's produced by a single German company and just celebrated its thirtieth anniversary." He shrugged at her raised eyebrows and added, "It's one of my favorites, too."

She looked at him assessingly. "What kind of cracker do you eat it with?" There was a sort of challenge in her voice.

"I always go with the plain water crackers. I find they don't detract from the flavor of the cheese itself."

She nodded in agreement. "I feel the same way. Once I made the mistake of trying those new Gorgonzola crackers, but I discovered they taste like...," she hesitated, trying to think of exactly the right word to use.

"Vomit?" he prompted.

"Exactly. Vomit. Not a good combination." They grinned at one another in a moment of cheese camaraderie; then they both went back to scanning the disrupted pile.

"Here's one that's a week away," he offered, handing her a wrapped triangle.

"Thanks, but go ahead and take it. I need a smaller piece." She hunted a few more seconds and then picked up a block half the size of his, setting it in the basket hanging on her arm. "Well, have a good night."

He watched her stop at the Two-Buck Chuck display to pick out a bottle of white and then disappear toward the checkouts.

The second time he ran into her, about a week later, he did it literally, stepping back onto her foot at the crowded Saturday night opening of an exhibit of fused glass at the Mariposa Gallery.

"Whoops!" She raised her flute of champagne to avoid sloshing it on herself and turned to see who had bumped her. As their eyes met, she looked blank for a moment, trying to place him, and then said, "Watch it, Mr. Cambozola. I only get one glass tonight, so I don't want to waste it."

He apologized, again, and added, "I was looking at the bowl, not where I was going."

"I can see why. It's a brilliant piece. Her style reminds me of the Venetian use of fused mosaics."

"You mean 'millefiori'," Marshall responded. "A thousand flowers."

She looked at him in surprise. "Do you know glass, Mr. ...?"

"Mann. Marshall Mann." He held out his hand and appreciated the strong, brief grip she gave him.

"I'm Barrett Thorsen." They turned together to contemplate the graceful, multi-colored shallow bowl before them. "Have you seen the whole exhibit yet?" she asked. "There are some amazing wall pieces over there. And you haven't told me yet if you're a glass aficionado."

Marshall tilted his head self-denigratingly. "Not really. I've only read a little about it, but I'm starting to appreciate the history behind it." Without thinking, he launched into a mini-lecture on the background on fused glass, which dated back to Mesopotamia and ancient Egypt. Out of reflex, he reined himself in before he could really get rolling, aware that most people, like Mary, were a little put off by his encyclopedic ramblings.

Not everyone, apparently. Barrett was staring at him in fascination, waiting for him to continue.

Honestly, he was a little flustered by her attention. He tried to pick up where he had left off (the 4th century A.D.), but he had lost his train of thought.

"You really DO know your glass," she said admiringly. "I wish you'd run into me earlier, when I first arrived. The exhibit would've been more interesting with my own personal docent." She hesitated a moment and then added, "Are you here with someone, Mr. Mann? If you're not, I'd love to hear more about art glass."

The rest of the evening flew by. For the first time in years, Marshall was in his element, with an intelligent, rapt listener who was able to hold her own on discussions of art, history, and a number of other wide-ranging topics. After the exhibit got a little too overcrowded, he offered to walk Barrett down the block to a coffeehouse he liked, and they talked over espresso and the low-key jazz trio until the owner shooed them out the door.

As they strolled back to the parking lot, enjoying the quiet street, he had a twinge of regret that the night was over. He'd never felt such an instant connection to anyone before, an affinity that was-mostly-intellectual. Unlike everyone else he interacted with, Barrett was able to keep up with him on most topics (German film noir, classic jazz, and Thai cuisine) and even outdistanced him on some (local natural history and Italian coffee). And what she didn't know about she _wanted_ to know about: she propped her chin on her palm and peppered him with questions. He admitted a little guiltily to himself that it was refreshing to have a conversation with someone who didn't roll her eyes in annoyance at his explanations or whack him upside the head when he mentioned French writers.

Barrett stopped next to her Honda Civic, fumbling for the key fob in the messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Opening the door, she turned around to face him: "Thanks for a really enjoyable evening, Marshall. I can't remember when I've had such a good time." She held out her hand, and once again, he was struck by her natural, easy manner and lack of artifice.

"I enjoyed it just as much," he assured her, shaking her hand. "It's not often I get to talk about Fritz Lang with someone I just trampled at a gallery."

She grinned. "No harm, no foul." There was a bit of an awkward moment then, neither of them sure how to end the evening. She finally stopped staring at him long enough to slide into the driver's seat. "Well, good night, and thanks again."

He shut the door and headed toward his truck. He was just about to climb in when he heard Barrett's car pull up beside him. She rolled the window down and leaned out.

"If you're not doing anything tomorrow, I'm going out to Petroglyph National Monument. Would you like to come? I've only seen a little bit of it since I moved here." She hesitated a moment and then added, "Unless you're busy..." Marshall realized she had thoughtfully left him an opening to decline the invitation gracefully.

"I'd like that," he said frankly. "I haven't been there in years. Are you planning on hiking?" he added, and she nodded.

"There are a couple of easy trails to the petroglyphs. I'll bring lunch, if you don't mind driving. Your truck's better suited to the terrain than my car." She gave him her cell phone number, a meeting place, and a time, and then the two of them left for home.


	2. Chapter 2

Marshall had more time to reflect on the evening as he wound his way through the quiet Albuquerque streets. He replayed the scenes in his head, driving almost automatically toward his condo: Barrett talking about her work as a biotech researcher (integrative genomics) and sharing what it was like to be the first person from her Wisconsin farm family to go to college; him revealing (to her amusement) the burden of his dual name/job title and empathizing with Barrett on her unusual first name (her mother's favorite woman poet); and finally, experiencing the pleasure of a meeting of like minds and interests that had been missing from his life until now.

He had always had a deep connection with Mary that went way beyond mere friendship, but-he had to admit-she wasn't exactly the most intellectually curious person he'd ever met. Her research interests began and ended with the WitSec database, and he was fairly sure she only read the newspaper for sports scores and movie listings. For as long as they had been partners, he'd considered it his duty to educate her on a number of topics...none of which seemed to have had much of an impact on her.

Barrett, on the other hand, was a challenge. He had to bring his A game to keep up with her, something he'd never experienced before. The thought occurred to him that he'd better read up on petroglyphs when he got home, if he wanted to participate semi-coherently tomorrow.

Their Sunday outing was characterized by mild temperatures (by Albuquerque standards), relatively few hikers, and a Mediterranean lunch, complete with fresh pita bread.

"I couldn't decide whether to make hummus, tabouli, or muhammara, so I made all three," Barrett said with a little embarrassment. "I should tell you that I cheated and got the bread at a bakery. I'm not much of a baker."

"It's amazing!" Marshall mumbled around a mouthful of the red pepper spread. "What's in this?"

He listened carefully as Barrett explained, and they segued into a discussion of their favorite places to shop for various hard-to-find ingredients.

They sat on a blanket, looking out over the valley in front of them and picking up where they had left off the night before. The hike out to the picnic spot was moderate, but considering that Barrett spent most of her days holed up in a lab, Marshall noticed that she didn't have any problems keeping up with him. Her long legs ate up the trail, and even the steepest incline didn't make her break a sweat. He found out later that she had rowed on a crew team, both as an undergrad and grad student (at Oxford, no less), and she still rowed with a recreational club on Lake Cochiti when she had time in her schedule, so her fitness and stamina were no mystery. She offered to let him try her rowing shell, and he convinced her to take up tai chi, which he had been practicing for years.

When the conversation wound down to a comfortable silence, they sat and enjoyed the view, each of them occasionally pointing out wildlife of interest. Finally, Barrett stretched and got to her feet. "I hate to say it, but I have to get back and check on an experiment," she said regretfully.

"Can I ask what you're doing, or is that classified?" Marshall inquired.

Barrett looked doubtful. "You're sure you really want to know?" He nodded for her to continue, and she said, "Stop me if I say something you don't understand." He received a ten-minute dissertation on the challenge of tracking virus replication that made him yearn for an Internet connection and a dictionary.

After he loaded her gear into her car at the parking lot where they had met, he turned to face her, and they eyed each other speculatively. "How about dinner this week?" he asked.

"OK, but only if you promise to introduce me to some decent sushi. I haven't found the right place here yet," she responded. He gave her his phone numbers, and then Barrett drove to the lab, leaving Marshall to head home to catch up on some weekend cleaning and laundry.

Just as he finished tidying up the kitchen, his phone trilled: it was Mary.

"Wanna get a late lunch with me? I'm starving."

"I just got back from a picnic, but I'll keep you company. Where?"

"A picnic for one person? That's pretty pathetic, even for you, isn't it?"

He didn't take the bait, choosing instead to ignore her comment. He got the name of the restaurant and then ended the call, pausing to assess exactly why he hadn't responded to Mary's snark. His relationship with Barrett was too...new...to talk about with her, he decided. He wasn't sure yet where it was going, but he WAS sure he didn't want to endure an interrogation from his partner about it.

Over the next month, he and Barrett saw each other at least twice a week, discovering the many common interests they had. They went to plays, films, and live music. They tried restaurants they'd always wondered about but didn't want to eat at by themselves. He saved his _New York Times_ for her (after removing the crossword section), and she lent him her issues of _The Economist_. It got to the point that their emails notifying each other about an interesting upcoming cultural event would cross in cyberspace. Marshall was in geek heaven, and so was Barrett, apparently.

But was he in love? That was a question he couldn't answer. He was definitely attracted to her, and who wouldn't be? He could tell when they went out together that they drew attention with their height and pleasure in each other's company. Barrett wasn't classically beautiful, but her lithe athletic body, sense of humor, and obvious intelligence stood out in a crowd.

After pondering his dilemma for another week, Marshall decided to test the depth of his feelings for her.


	3. Chapter 3

They had just finished cleaning up her kitchen from the mess the Pad Thai cooking demonstration had left. Barrett was extolling the virtues of the latest book she was reading as she wiped off the center island, and when she stopped for a breath, Marshall leaned over and kissed her lightly on the mouth. She tasted of the port they'd had after dinner.

He backed off slowly and opened his eyes to assess her reaction. She swallowed hard and stared seriously at him. Reaching up, she framed his face with her hands and pulled him toward her to return the kiss, deepening it. Then it was her turn to pull back, her head tilted to one side thoughtfully.

"Well?" he asked. "Did you hear violins? A chorus of angels?"

She hesitated briefly, considering. "Noooo, it was more like..." she broke off, obviously searching for just the right thing to say. Her lips trembled as she continued, "It was more like...a kazoo!" She snorted and then dissolved into a howl of laughter, collapsing on the granite counter top. He joined her.

"I was going to say 'like a harmonica' or 'sad trombone'," he managed to choke out, when he finally got some of his breath back, and that sent her to the floor in fresh peals of laughter.

He walked around the island and offered her a hand up. As he hauled her to her feet, she once again captured his face and gazed at him. "Marshall, please don't take this the wrong way, but that felt like what I imagine kissing my brother would be like...if I had a brother. Ewgh." She shuddered.

Marshall echoed her shudder and added a cringe of his own. "I felt like I was participating in an experiment," he admitted, smiling down at her. "I half expected someone with a white coat and clipboard to ask me where my reaction ranked on the Likert scale."

She smirked in appreciation.

"But I wanted to know." He held her hands. "You know what your friendship means to me, Barrett. I had to see if there was something more."

"We had to try," she agreed. "I admit I was wondering the same thing." She looked at him with a glint in her eye that made him wary. "You know, seeing as how we're just buddies, I guess that would make me your fuh-"

"Don't say it!" he warned her dangerously.

"-your fu-un buddy!" she finished triumphantly, right before he poked her in the ribs and set off another bout of hysterics.

With the question answered, they were free to develop their relationship into an even deeper friendship.


	4. Chapter 4

After the kiss experiment, he trounced her twice in a row at chess but the next week had his ass handed to him when they went to a paintball range.

"I never would have expected you to know how to shoot," he said with chagrin as he rubbed his sternum. She had fired up at him from her concealed position on the ground under a bush, striking him four times in a tight cluster before he could react. "Whatever happened to pacifist scientists?"

"Deer hunting," she explained smugly as they walked back to his truck after the encounter. "Did I neglect to mention there was a shooting range down the road from our farm?"

He groaned. "That felt like payback for the chess matches," he said, resigned.

"You know what they say," she responded wickedly, "'Revenge is a dish best served cold.'"

"_Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan_," Marshall stated, startled. "I didn't know you liked science fiction!"

"Are you kidding? Much to my family's embarrassment, I can quote whole sections from most of the series. And," she paused a moment for dramatic effect, "I even have a _Next Generation_ snow globe and Original Series Pez collection. Top that!"

This led to an argument all the way back to her house about which was the best series and which episodes were their favorites. So the next Friday night, Marshall invited her over for a marathon of his Top Five _Next Generation_ episodes. They lounged on his couch dissecting the plots and pointing out Shakespearean analogies in the situations, eating popcorn and drinking beer.

About halfway through "Yesterday's Enterprise" (number three in his Top Five), his cell rang. It was Mary, so Barrett paused the DVD and got up to use the bathroom while he talked.

"Hey, Marshall, I'm bored out of my mind. Pick up some beer and come over and entertain me."

"Sorry, I can't," he told her. "I'm hanging out at home with someone...watching Star Trek." He added the last detail on purpose, just to reinforce the idea that he was a total nerd.

"What? With who?" she demanded.

"Uh, it's, um, Barrett, someone I met recently." He watched her absently as she went into the kitchen to grab some more popcorn out of the bowl, his mind on the woman on the other end of the line.

"Well, tell your geek pal he needs to go home to his mom's basement now so you can have some adult fun for a change."

Marshall snickered. It hadn't really occurred to him that Mary had no idea about his friendship with the scientist. He hadn't made a conscious effort to hide it; it had just ended up that way. Suddenly, he found himself rather enjoying the idea of his partner finding out and started planning the best possible way to spring it on her.

"You'll have to be self-entertaining tonight, Mare. We're only partway through the Best-of Marathon."

He could hear her huff over the airwaves. "Fine, be that way. And try to keep your hands off your 'date', if you can." She ended the call.

"Was that Mary?" Barrett asked, as she handed him a bowl and another beer. "If you need to go, we can finish this some other time."

"What, and miss the two-parter of 'The Best of Both Worlds'?" he said in mock horror. "Not likely!"

"Seriously, Marshall, it's no big deal. I don't want to get between you and Mary."

He shook his head. "It's good for her ego to be ignored at least once a month. Back to the show." He took the food and drink out of her hands and pulled her down next to him on the couch, sitting tall so he could tuck her in under his shoulder. They finished the marathon with an impromptu version of Mystery Science Theater 3000, his fake Picard accent making Barrett helpless with laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

He discovered early on in their relationship that she didn't drink much, only allowing herself one a night. And the reason for it wasn't pleasant, he found.

They had been sitting in a booth in a southwestern restaurant, where they had gone for dinner and live mariachi music. He had noticed that she went for the smallest margarita she could order and only drank half of it, so he commented on it unthinkingly. To his surprise, the normally forthcoming woman grimaced and looked down.

"I'm just not much of a drinker," she mumbled at the tablecloth.

He reached across the table and tapped her lightly on the forehead until she looked up. "Hey, this is me over here, remember?"

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" she started out diffidently. He nodded encouragingly, his eyes on hers.

"OK, then." She took a deep breath and launched into it. "Five years ago, I had just started my own consulting business. At the time, I was living in Minneapolis with my...what would you call him? Life partner? Not-husband? Erik. We weren't married, but we'd been living together for ten years, since we met in grad school. Anyway," she paused and ran her finger around the rim of the margarita goblet for a moment before continuing, "I found out that I was pregnant in September after we'd been trying for a couple of years to have kids. It was amazing..." her voice trailed off again and she stared into the candle flame before her, lost in thought. Marshall waited her out in silence. "And then right after that, Erik's civil engineering firm won a government contract for a project in Kabul, so he left at the end of November to oversee the setup on that end. Two weeks later, he was killed in a helicopter crash."

He made a sound of sympathy and reached across the table to take her hand, which was clenched around the heavy base of her glass. She offered him a crooked smile and resumed her study of the flame. "That was devastating enough, but a little while after I got the news, I had a spontaneous abortion...a miscarriage. All that was left of Erik was...gone..." She stopped for good, her eyes glittering in the candlelight.

Marshall squeezed her hand to stop the trembling. She looked up at him once more and added lightly, "So, for the next six months, I tried to kill myself slowly with alcohol and prescription drugs, until my family stepped in and stopped it." She sat back against the booth, removing her hand from his grasp and assessing his reaction warily. "There's the answer to your question: I can't trust myself around alcohol after that phase of my life."

"What happened after that?" he asked, unspoken sympathy written on his face. "How did you get from the Midwest to New Mexico?"

"After I was done...trying to off myself...I decided I needed a change of venue. This job appeared with a startup company, and it seemed like a good idea, so I took it. And I've never regretted it." She added, "Although I have to admit, I sometimes miss the seasons."

After her revelation, Marshall and Barrett enjoyed a new level of trust in their relationship. Marshall opened up to her about his complicated feelings toward his father and brothers. He told her childhood stories that he'd never shared with anyone else. It surprised him, as he was a fairly private person who was more interested in other people than in talking about himself, but he came to realize that Barrett had an insidious ability to get him to reveal long-held secrets.

"You're trying to use Jedi mind tricks on me, aren't you?" he accused her one afternoon, after she had wormed another somewhat embarrassing admission out of him.

She grinned cheekily at him and said in her best Yoda imitation, "Do or do not. There is no try!"

He also eventually talked openly to her about his complicated relationship with his partner, and before long, he was venting to Barrett regularly about Mary. Of course, he was always careful to redact information about his line of work, and he appreciated that Barrett carefully avoided asking him about it, but she wasn't an idiot. Her ability to read between the lines was uncanny, and he sometimes had the sense that she knew more than she let on.

He came to realize that she and Mary were polar opposites, yet they both meshed with him. Mary was hard and prickly on the outside, but he saw her softer side as she negotiated the minefield that was the world of maintaining high-need witnesses. Barrett, on the other hand, presented to the world an easy-going, self-effacing exterior that masked a steel core developed through interactions with boys who thought she shouldn't play hockey and men who thought she shouldn't do math and science.

By the end of two months, they got along like they'd known each other for years.


	6. Chapter 6

It was Barrett who started the whole Mystery Date thing. She left a voice mail when he was out of town on assignment, seeing if he was free that weekend "for a little adventure," so he called her as soon as he got back, even though he was wiped out from the travel. The adventure turned out to be an evening hot air balloon ride over the desert, which he had always wanted to try, but which Mary had absolutely zero interest in doing. Marshall retaliated by inviting her over the next week for dinner, but when she walked into his kitchen, she found him in an apron and chef's hat, standing arms crossed and legs braced wide, presiding over an Iron Chef setup complete with two sets of everything necessary for Battle Tuna. Months later, they still talked about his Seared Tuna with Ginger-Balsamic Reduction.

They each took ridiculous pleasure in waylaying the other with little gifts and surprises. After Marshall taught Barrett how to fold an origami crane, he returned home one night to find the door to his place festooned with hundreds of them in an array of colors and patterns. The week before Halloween, his Mystery Date involved a Day of the Dead celebration, where he presented her with a set of hand-carved wooden figures as a souvenir. A few nights later, he came home to find on his doorstep a small, glowing pumpkin carved with a U.S. Marshals star. He laughed and reached for his phone.

There were a couple areas of disagreement, as there are with any couple. She couldn't stand his Joan Baez CD and made gagging noises whenever he tried to foist it on her. He, on the other hand, couldn't comprehend her appreciation for European dance remixes and threatened to bolt out of the car when she turned on her David Guetta file. She was not a fan of sweet stuff and found his pie addiction a little gross, but then again, she ate tofu, which he hated. But Marshall's greatest regret was his inability to convince Barrett to go with him to dancing lessons. She flat-out refused to bend.

Barrett's existence finally made an impression on Mary on Marshall's birthday. She had come over with her usual last-minute gift of booze, unwrapped of course, which he took from her and opened. Just as they were about to drink, the doorbell rang. Opening the door revealed a delivery driver from one of the notable bakeries in the city.

"Mr. Mann?" she asked, checking the invoice taped to the top of the large white box she held.

He nodded and bemusedly took the box as the driver handed it over. Kicking the door shut, he walked into the kitchen, with Mary right behind him.

"If that's a pie, it's a pretty big-ass one," said Mary. "Open it up!"

Marshall carefully lifted the top of the mystery box and peeked inside. His jaw dropped, and then his face broke out in the widest smile Mary had ever seen.

"Well? What kind is it, doofus?"

With a flourish, he flipped open the lid the rest of the way to reveal a greenish-tinged cake in the shape of a Vulcan salute. Written across the palm in darker green icing were the words, "Live Long and Prosper."

"Genius!" he said delightedly. Grabbing his cell, he hit Barrett's speed dial, tapping his fingers impatiently as he waited for her to pick up. To his disappointment, it rang through to her voice mail, but the message had been changed. Her voice, in a very fake Scottish accent, now said, "Ye cannae have any more birthdays, Captain! Your cake... it's gonna blow!" He could barely stop laughing long enough to leave a message about how much he loved the surprise.

When he hung up, his laughter trailed off as he discovered his partner regarding him like he'd sprouted another head. "What?" he asked, a little defensively.

"Nothing...it's just...I've never seen you like this." She jerked her chin at the hand-cake in front of her, squinting suspiciously. "Who's it from, anyway?"

"There's no card, but I'm guessing Barrett send it as a joke."

Mary nodded slowly, her lips pursed. "Uh, huh... that guy must...reeeeeallly like you, Marshall."

He couldn't disagree with that. "Looks that way," he said in a satisfied tone.

Mary continued to give him the stink-eye. "So, when do I get to finally meet the Amazing Barrett?"

"How about at Stan's holiday party next month?" Marshall said, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep the gleeful anticipation out of his voice. He couldn't help it; the mental picture was too good.


	7. Chapter 7

A trial and transport in New York took them out of town for over a week, and Marshall found it a little strange that he hadn't heard from his "fu-un buddy" for a while, not even a message or email.

When he returned and found that Stan had kicked them out of the office for a couple of vacation days, he was anticipating spending at least one of them with Barrett. However, there was no answer on her cell or home phone. He ended up leaving a message, asking her to call. She didn't get back to him until almost midnight, and then she sounded tired and subdued.

"Hey, Marshall... What's up? Sorry I didn't call this week. It's been crazy at the lab lately."

"I have a couple of days off coming up, so I was hoping you could get away for one of them." There was silence on the other end for a minute, and he thought he'd lost the connection. "Barrett?"

"I'm still here," came her low voice. "It's not a good time right now, unfortunately, but thanks anyway."

They spoke for a few more minutes, and then she excused herself to go to bed. Before she hung up, he tried one more time.

"Is everything OK?"

"Oh, yah, sure." Her Wisconsin accent was even more evident when she was tired. "Thanks for asking."

Marshall set his phone on the counter and idly spun it around and around while he considered the call. Making up his mind, he grabbed his keys and headed out to his truck.

Ten minutes later, he was ringing her doorbell. When she opened the door, he took one look at her face and held his arms out. She walked right into them. He rested his chin on the top of her head and rubbed the length of her back, waiting for her to speak. Finally, she did.

"Anniversaries are a bitch, you know?" Her voice was muffled in his shirt, but he already knew what she was going to say, anyway. They stood on the dark porch for a couple more minutes, until she let go of her hold on his waist and backed up into her hallway. "As long as you're here, you might as well come in."

They spent at least an hour just talking about nothing of importance, until Barrett fell asleep leaning up against him. He eased her down onto her side, covered her with a throw, and then left to get a few hours of sleep of his own.

When she called the next morning, he distracted her with a Mystery Date promise that involved jeans and boots, which was all he would say. They drove out of town in her car for about half an hour, ending up at a building near the Sandia wilderness area. As they got out, she scanned the scene and put two and two together: "Horseback riding? I haven't been in years!" She hugged him in excitement.

Marshall grinned shyly. "I thought a simple farm girl like you might like something like this."

The trip through the evergreen forests was calming, just as he had intended. It was always difficult, he'd found, to dwell on problems when you're completely focused on your horse and the terrain.

Post-ride, they brushed the dust off each other before they got back into the car. Barrett laid a hand on his arm and said, "Hey, thanks for being there. It really means a lot. I guess I never realized how lonely I was until I met you."

He opened her door for her and then swept her an elaborate courtly bow: "I serve Her Royal Highness." His efforts earned him a haughty royal look and a nasty pinch on the rear end as she got in.


	8. Chapter 8

Two days until Stan's party. Marshall hoped that no witness crises would interfere, because he was practically rubbing his hands in anticipation of showing up with Barrett. She, on the other hand, was more than a little dubious about his stratagem. She had tried to argue her way out of going, citing her outsider status, but he just looked at her with a fake puppy-dog expression until she relented. It was his secret weapon.

The evening of the party, Marshall stopped off at Barrett's place to pick her up. She opened the door and looked him up and down appreciatively. "Mighty fine, Mr. Mann! You should wear those black jeans more often. Le Rowr Rowr!"

"You're not so bad yourself...for a science geek." In truth, she looked great, wearing black dress pants and a loose white shirt. In her heels, she easily topped his shoulder.

"Ready?" he inquired, holding out an elbow for her.

"No, I changed my mind and decided to schedule a double root canal for tonight instead."

"Oh, come on. It won't be that bad," he said encouragingly.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered mutinously. "I feel like I'm going to a job interview...but I don't know what the position is for."

Marshall wanted to arrive a little early in order to get there before Mary. Because she was usually running on Shannon Time, he didn't have to worry much about her beating him to the restaurant. Inside, he introduced Barrett around the room and then left her talking with Stan to get a couple of drinks for them. As he was leaning on the bar, Mary walked up behind him and messed his hair until it stuck up in the back. He shot her a pained look and smoothed it back into place.

"So, where's your uber-geek friend?" she asked, scanning the room for a new face. "I don't see any visible pocket protectors."

"All in good time," said Marshall calmly. He waited for Mary to order a beer and then took their drinks over to where his boss stood. Barrett had her back to the room and didn't see them approach. He reached around her to hand her a glass of wine, so she turned to see the two of them standing behind her.

Marshall cleared his throat officiously. "Mary, I'd like you to meet Barrett Thorsen. Barrett, this is my partner, Mary, whom you've heard me mention so often." He stopped to savor the pole-axed expression on his normally unflappable partner's face.

From her slight height advantage, Barrett looked down at the blond in front of her and held out her hand. "Mary, it's great to finally meet you."

Mary shot an "I'll-get-you-for-this-later" glance at her too-innocent partner beside her before she grabbed Barrett's hand...and started to squeeze. Barrett's face didn't change expression at all as she responded to the challenge, but the tension in the air was palpable. Stan shifted nervously as he watched the silent contest playing out in front of him.

Marshall spared a brief sympathetic thought for his blindsided partner: she had no idea what she had gotten herself into. He knew from painful personal experience (arm wrestling for a restaurant tab) that years of farm labor and hauling an oar through the water had provided Barrett with a grip that could flatten a tennis ball. Mary was out of her league on this one. He finally stepped in and ended the contest by throwing his arm over Barrett's shoulders and taking her off to meet some new arrivals. They walked away, leaving Mary glaring after them and massaging her hand.

"That went well, don't you think?" he asked Barrett cheerfully.

She rolled her eyes. "You SO owe me for this, Marshall Mann."

The rest of the evening was a bit awkward, but then, that was part of the fun, thought Marshall. Barrett charmed his co-workers with her sense of humor and sincere interest in them. Marshall watched in fascination as she exercised her Jedi powers on yet another hapless victim, dragging out anecdotes that previously had been well-hidden. She even managed to get Stan to relate how he had once gotten caught shoplifting with his pals when he was a kid back East, an incident that Marshall and Mary had never heard about.

"So, where did you and Marshall meet?" asked Mary. "I didn't realize they had Star Trek conventions in Albuquerque," she added snarkily.

Marshall and Barrett shared a private look that grated on Mary's nerves. "Actually, we ran into each other at an art gallery," said Barrett. "And although there is an annual sci-fi event here, I prefer the official Trek convention in Phoenix, which attracts bigger names like Shatner." She smiled serenely at Marshall's partner, knowing full well what Mary thought of some of Marshall's more esoteric interests.

When Barrett excused herself to find the bathroom, Mary changed places to sit next to Marshall. "So, what's the deal with her? she asked, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "Is this serious, or what?"

"Huh? Oh, we're just friends," Marshall said easily. Just to irritate her, he couldn't resist adding, "Good friends."

"Yeah? What's your 'good friend' like in bed?"

"Sssshhhh!" Marshall hissed, looking around to see if Stan had heard his partner's inappropriate question.

"What's the matter, haven't you gotten into her Star Trek pants yet?" Mary asked nastily, realizing even as she did so that it was going too far, even for her.

It suddenly occurred to Marshall that the whole evening was playing out like a well-acted farce, and he burst into laughter just as Barrett returned.

She looked at her date and then at Mary. "What's so funny?"

Mary shrugged, while Marshall barely managed to say, "_T-t-twelfth Night_!" before he gave himself up to his enjoyment of the situation.

Barrett grinned at him. "Nah, I was thinking _As You Like It_, or possibly even _Tartuffe_." She slid into the seat Mary had vacated and waited for Marshall to gather himself. "On second thought, maybe not _Tartuffe_, because that would make one of us a hypocrite and a criminal."

Mary shook her head in bemusement, staring at her relaxed and obviously happy partner. She had never seen him like this. In fact, she realized with a jolt of insight, she had never had that kind of an effect on him. Just the opposite, if she were completely honest. It was a sobering thought. She regarded the brunette across the table a little jealously. Who was this person?

After the party, Marshall left to take Barrett home, but Mary headed to the office to do a little background checking. Just to make sure she's OK for Marshall, she told herself. The federal and local databases she had access to had relatively little on Barrett Thorsen-which should have been good news-but what there was was depressing. The woman had more letters behind her name than Mary had ever seen before. She couldn't even figure out exactly what Barrett did for a living, although it obviously had something to do with scientific research, and the articles that came up on Google were incomprehensible.

Mary shut down her computer and leaned back in her chair. She sat for a bit, thinking over what it had been like to see Marshall so in tune with someone besides her. There was an inherent rapport between her partner and Barrett that made her envious. For the first time, she was forced to face the fact that other women found him attractive and desirable. It was an unpleasant thought...that she might lose him to someone else. Mary bit her lip and sat in the dark, contemplating a future without Marshall.


	9. Chapter 9

One afternoon a few weeks later, Marshall was surprised to get a call from Barrett before the day was over. She had always avoided bothering him when she figured he was still at work. He was almost done with the day's paperwork anyway, so, concerned, he took the call, turning away from Mary to talk a little more privately.

"What's up?"

"I hate to interrupt you at work, but I had to tell you that I think I heard the beginnings of a violin duet today." She sounded positively giddy with suppressed excitement.

"What, really? Who is it? Or can't you tell me?" he asked.

"It's a consultant I met at the conference last month. He's coming out to take a look at our operation and called ahead to see if I wanted to have dinner. He's really...special." She sounded like a teenager, Marshall thought. "And Marshall, he's thinking of relocating to Albuquerque. How excellent would that be?"

"That's great news," he told her sincerely. "Want to get together tonight and talk about it?" They set a meeting place (the new Indian restaurant near the downtown), and then Marshall ended the call in his best Western drawl: "Better git your bow rosined up, lil' lady. The symphony's a-comin'."

Barrett giggled. "Only you could make that sound positively obscene. Bye!"

Marshall set his phone down and sat looking out the windows near his desk. He sensed a shift taking place, but he wasn't unhappy about it. Barrett deserved someone who could give her what she needed, and Marshall fully intended to maintain their friendship, whatever the outcome. It was too important to him to let it go. He swiveled back to face his desk, noticing along the way that Mary was looking over at him. He raised his eyebrows at her.

Instead of responding with the sarcastic jab he half-expected, she leaned her head on her hand to contemplate him. "You're really happy with Barrett right now, aren't you?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "I told you, Mare, we're just good friends."

"Whatever. I mean, she really makes you happy. She really gets you."

Marshall answered slowly, holding her eyes, "Yeah, I guess she does. We're a lot alike." He waited for her to continue, but instead, she turned back to the mountain of documents stacked next to her monitor.

An hour later, Mary nodded good-bye and watched him leave for the elevator. After a minute or two, she grabbed her jacket and walked down to the parking lot to get her car. She felt like a high schooler as she drove to the Indian restaurant and parked where she could see the front, slouching down in her seat so she wasn't totally obvious. Marshall's truck was already there, a half-dozen spaces ahead of hers, and as she watched, Barrett walked up to the side window and tapped on the glass, waving. Marshall hopped out and came around to the sidewalk. Picking up a surprised Barrett, he spun her around twice before setting her down again and planting a big smacker on her forehead. She hugged him, then let him go, and he said something to her, rubbing his lower back. Barrett elbowed him in the ribs until he took her hand and towed her into the restaurant.

Mary sighed heavily and sank down even farther.


	10. Chapter 10

Warning: uses the f-word, so read no further if you're offended by it. Now, back to our regularly scheduled Marshall whumpage!

Six weeks later, around dusk, Mary opened up the passenger door of her purple Ford POS and bent over to regard Marshall, who lay in the reclined seat with his eyes closed. He was pale, sweaty, and she could see the muscles in his jaw working as he staved off a groan lying just beneath the surface. After a moment, he rolled his head toward her and levered open his eyes. His pupils were mere pinpricks from the effects of the heavy-duty painkillers he was on, courtesy of the Houston hospital that had treated and discharged him that morning.

"You're gonna have to get out yourself," said Mary. "You're too big for me to haul out on my own." He nodded, closing his eyes again for a minute while he geared himself up for the move. Mary took advantage of his inertia to grab his crutches out of the rear seat, leaning them up against the car. It took quite a bit of swearing on Mary's part before her partner was as vertical as he was going to be, propped up on crutches, his bandaged leg barely touching the ground. That effort alone left him shaky and woozy, and he contemplated the ramifications of taking a quick nap on the sidewalk.

Mary slapped him lightly on the cheek to focus him. "Hey! Don't go all wimpy on me here. I can't carry you inside." He nodded and took a deep breath before they moved slowly toward his door.

The Houston transport had been a clusterfuck. As they were exiting the courthouse with the witness, a drive-by attempt had them all diving for the pavement. Mary, in the lead, had ducked behind a police cruiser, but Marshall had taken a ricochet in the thigh as he tackled the witness and covered him with his body until the shooters had departed. The bullet more than made up for its lack of velocity with its flattened profile, which left a swath of destruction as it entered and exited his leg, nicking an artery along the way.

After extensive surgery and five days in recovery, the doctors in Houston had reluctantly pronounced him fit to travel, but Marshall was beginning to wish he'd taken them up on their recommendation of two more glorious fun-filled nights in the hospital. The relatively brief flight back to ABQ had made him feel positively ancient.

With the help of several long breaks, Mary finally deposited her partner none-too-gently on his bed. Leaving momentarily, she returned with two Vicodins and a bottle of water.

"Thanks." His voice was barely above a whisper, whether from the pain or from the fact that he was already sliding into sleep, she didn't know. Mary pulled off his shoes and then tugged his bedclothes up to cover him before grabbing a spare blanket and crashing on the couch.

She was fried, but her racing mind insisted-as it had for the last few days-on replaying the shooting. After the ambush with Horst/Lola, Mary had lived daily with the understanding that the next transport-the next witness visit-could be her partner's last. But that acceptance didn't exactly lessen the shock of seeing him decorating downtown Houston with his own blood. Sighing, she pummeled the pillow under her head, trying both to beat it into a more comfortable position and remove the mental picture of Marshall calmly pulling off his belt to use as a temporary tourniquet until medical help arrived. Some days this job just sucked, she thought bitterly. No way around that. 

Awakening from an exhausted sleep had never been one of her strong points, and this morning was no exception. Disorientation was the order of the day as she opened her eyes and for a few seconds had no idea where she was. Houston. Shooting. Marshall. Clambering blearily onto her feet, she slouched into the bedroom to check on Sleeping Beauty. He didn't look like he'd moved at all from where she'd dumped him twelve hours earlier, which made her lean in closely to see if he was breathing or not. Just checking, you know...

While she waited for him to wake up, she killed a couple of hours making coffee and reading the newspaper. Figuring out Marshall's overly complicated coffee machine took up the bulk of her time. Is it so much to ask that a coffee machine just make a damn cup of coffee, she wondered?

She figured he was awake when she heard a rustle and then a loud "Jesus!" from the direction of the bedroom. Arriving at the door just in time to watch him flop back onto the bed from his sitting position, she decided to put on her positive face, just to irritate him.

"Rise and shine! It's a beautiful morning out there. Wakey wakey!"

Marshall expended enough energy to flip her off before returning his arm to where it rested across his eyes. He was as washed out in the light of day as he had been the evening before, which was unusual for him. Even his shoulder injury hadn't kept him down for long, and he'd never lost his trademark verbal diarrhea the whole recovery period.

This time was different, though, and she couldn't put a finger on what it was. She pried him out of bed and helped him to the bathroom (stopping at the door, of course) and back. He didn't utter a sound, other than breathing hard and hissing through his teeth when he made an injudicious movement. He shut his eyes almost before he hit the pillow, so she was left with nothing to do but cover him up again.

"Marshall!"

"Yeah..." he didn't bother to look at her.

"Seriously, are you OK? I need to go clean up and fill out an incident report for Stan before it gets any later."

He flapped his hand in the general direction of her voice. "Go ahead...I'm just going to catch up on my sleep."

Mary padded out to the kitchen and rummaged around for a sports bottle, which she filled with ice water. Setting it on the nightstand next to the Vicodin and antibiotic bottles and Marshall's cell phone, she stood looking down for a moment as he slept. He wasn't getting any younger, she realized with a pang. Time-and the job-had carved lines around his eyes and mouth, and pain deepened them. On the other hand, after the events of the last few days, she herself probably wasn't looking too fresh, either. Gathering her keys and bag, she locked up and left for home and a shower.

Five hours later, she was on her third set of forms and entertaining the fantasy of wadding them up, setting them alight, and using them to torch Allison Pearson's desk. Despite having pulled out every procrastination trick in the book, she was stuck with finishing the paperwork. Marshall couldn't even offer moral support: every time she called to check up on him, he was too out of it from the drugs to be of any help. Mary finally gave up and decided to let him rest.

Just after four, her Blackberry warbled for her attention. Checking the caller ID, she answered with a crabby, "It's about time you woke up, idiot. Do you even care that Stan wants a full report on the Houston incident, by tomorrow morning?"

"Is this Mary? This is Barrett Thorsen."

"What the hell are you doing using Marshall's phone? That's property of the Department of Justice! I don't know-"

"Shut up for a second and listen! I couldn't think of any other way to contact you. I called Marshall to see if he wanted to get some dinner, and he was completely incoherent. It didn't even sound like him."

"Uh, yeah, he's taking some painkillers right now, so he's a little woozy..."

"MARY! I'm standing right here looking at him; it's not good. He's non-responsive, and he's burning up. Plus, his leg's swollen to the point of pulling the stitches. If you don't get over here, I'm calling an ambulance."

Grabbing her jacket, Mary ran for the elevator. "Don't wait for me. Call an ambulance right now! Have him taken to Mesa." She hung up and danced impatiently in front of the doors, waiting for them to open. Fuck! She should never have left him alone when he was recovering like that. How many times had he taken care of her, and she couldn't even be bothered to do her part when he needed it? She hated herself more than usual.


	11. Chapter 11

Driving even worse than her usual maniacal style, Mary beat the paramedics to the emergency room by almost ten minutes. She took advantage of the downtime to notify Stan, who promised to be there ASAP. Rather than interfering with staff, she removed herself to a corner chair to wait for the squad to arrive. To avoid pacing and wringing her hands, she indulged in extensive and painful self-flagellation until the double doors opened to admit a gurney carrying Marshall, accompanied by his purposeful medical entourage. The blood roared in Mary's ears as she took in the sight of his bloodless face, covered by an Ambu bag. The technicians' chatter swirled around her like far-off birds.

Mary swung around to watch the group disappear down the corridor before making her way to the admission desk to start the paperwork process. It would give her something to do, at least. As she filled in line after line, she felt a touch on her shoulder and glanced up to see a anxious-looking Barrett.

"Thanks for getting him here," Mary said sincerely. "He's lucky you decided to follow up on that phone call."

Barrett shrugged. "It's pretty easy to tell when he's not himself...you know. He puts everything out there." She switched topics. "Is there any news? Have they come out yet?"

Mary shook her head and went back to her documents. "Nope. They just took him back." Barrett squeezed her shoulder again and left to take a seat in the back, where she could keep an eye on the door, and Mary joined her after she crossed her t's and dotted her i's for the admitting supervisor. Plopping down, she huffed out a sigh. Beside her, Barrett was putting her necklace back on and fiddling with her ring.

She was pleasantly surprised when Barrett didn't try to engage her in conversation, like most people would have. They sat side by side, staring at the double doors, lost in their own thoughts.

After an eternity, an ER doctor pushed her way through the doors and paused in the entrance. "Marshall Mann?"

Barrett and Mary sprang up in unison and walked quickly over to stand before her. The doctor looked hesitantly between the two women. "Are you family?"

"I'm his partner." Mary flashed her badge.

"I'm his fiancee," Barrett said evenly. She held up her left hand.

Mary blanched and gaped at her until the doctor cleared her throat: "What we have here is a pretty severe systemic post-op infection, compounded by dehydration. We put in a drainage tube and we're trying to get his temperature down right now. Basically, I'd say he went home too early from his first hospitalization, and he's paying for it now. But he should be fine in a couple of days. We're moving him into a room in a few minutes. We'll call you when you can see him." She ended with a brief, impersonal smile at both of them as they thanked her and then turned on her heel to check on her patient.

Barrett blew out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's good news, to say the least. I was a little worried there..." Mary looked at her, still in a state of shock. She glanced down at Barrett's hand, adorned with a plain, modern-design platinum band inset with diamond chips. The thought floated through her mind that now she knew how Marshall had felt when she dropped the engagement bomb in the diner. She needed to sit down. It was hard to breathe.

It was more like an hour before a nurse came out and led them to Marshall's room, an hour punctuated by sporadic bursts of conversation about nothing of much importance. Barrett left at one point to make a phone call, while Mary updated Stan on Marshall's condition.

In the room, the two women silently took up flanking positions on either side of the hospital bed, waiting for Marshall to open his eyes, which he finally did, blinking slowly as he took in his surroundings, trying to place his location. He spotted his visitors and rolled his head back and forth, from one to the other. Barrett, he noticed, was as phlegmatic as ever, but Mary actually appeared a little freaked out, something he rarely ever saw. He licked his lips. "What happened?"

Mary snorted in disbelief. "What happened? You were unconscious and wouldn't wake up. Barrett called the paramedics and saved your sorry ass."

He looked at Barrett, who gave him a half-smile and reached down to take his hand gently. "It seemed like a good idea, seeing as how you were panting and sweating like you just completed a marathon." Marshall closed his eyes and groaned, just as Stan walked in.

"Inspector, I hear you had a little trouble." Stan nodded to Barrett, eyeing the hand-holding with open curiosity, before continuing. "Maybe next time you'll listen to your boss and stay in the hospital like you're supposed to."

The quartet spoke for a little longer before Barrett excused herself to let the colleagues have privacy. "I'll be back later, OK? I have to go check on a couple of things. Do you need anything from home?" Marshall gave her a short list of clothes and reading materials, and then she disappeared through the door.

"Soooo," began Mary. "Have you set the date yet?"

Marshall looked blank. "What?"

"The date...the date for the wedding."

That didn't help. Marshall stared at her like she was the feverish one. "The engagement, remember? Barrett told the nurse she's your fiancee."

Comprehension dawned. 'Oh! Right. Um, no." He clammed up, despite strange looks from his partner and boss. A yawn overtook him, and he said apologetically, "Sorry, I guess I'm still a little wiped out."

Stan stifled a sympathetic yawn of his own and then told his inspector firmly to recover fully before returning. "I don't want to see you for at least two weeks, got it? You can't afford another relapse."

Marshall nodded, his eyes drifting closed. "Got it."

His colleagues waited a moment longer until he was out and then turned to leave. In the hallway, Mary paused and said, "I'm gonna hang out here for a while. I'll keep you up to date."

Stan grabbed her arm and shook it gently. "Hey, he'll be fine. He's in good hands."

_Better than my inept ones_, thought Mary bitterly. She nodded and watched him leave before turning back to re-enter the room. Plopping into a chair by the bed, she leaned her cheek on her palm and inspected her partner, who lay there oblivious. She was a little pissed-no, a lot pissed-that he'd kept his life news a secret, but then, she had definitely set precedent in _that_ area. It was a lot to take in... She was losing him to someone else, someone who would make him happy, and she should feel good about it. She felt like throwing up.

Marshall woke up a few hours later, and they discussed the Houston incident and aftermath, as well as incidentals for several of Marshall's witnesses. Around eight, just as visiting hours were about to end, Barrett reappeared lugging a duffel bag. She set it on the table.

"Thanks for bringing that,..._honey_," Marshall said pointedly.

Barrett lips quirked. "You know I'd do anything for you,..._sweetie_." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. They grinned at each other in perfect accord. "I grabbed a bunch of books you've only read ten times, and I threw my Kindle in there with two Dan Ariely texts on it. Some light hospital reading."

Mary stood awkwardly, hands buried in her pockets, feeling like an unwelcome guest. Clearing her throat, she said, "Yeah, so, I'm gonna get going, Marshall. Call me tomorrow when you get a chance." She nodded good-bye to Marshall's fiancee and departed.

Marshall waited until she was out of earshot. "Nice ring," he commented ironically. "I'm guessing that's the one you wear on the chain around your neck?"

"It was the best I could come up with on short notice. It was either that or not be allowed to see you." She paused. "Sorry..."

He shook his head. "Don't be. I'm kind of enjoying the attention." They talked of books for a while until a nurse arrived to shoo Barrett out the door for the night. Before she left, she promised to bring a cribbage board the next day so she could teach him how to play before she humiliated him with her superior skills.


	12. Chapter 12

Mary ended up taking Marshall home on release day, as Barrett was otherwise engaged. He was beyond ready to leave the antiseptic confines of his hospital room and the sadistic physical therapy sessions. He definitely felt better than he had the last time he climbed awkwardly into the Probe, so the lost days at Mesa weren't a total waste.

As they pulled up to his place, Mary shuddered. "I'm having a little Groundhog Day moment here. You're not going to end up back at the hospital again, are you?"

Marshall reached over and covered her hand where it gripped the steering wheel. "I promise not to get another infection and pass out." This trip, he was able to exit the vehicle under his own power, and he made it to his condo with only one stop to resettle his crutches. Mary unlocked the door and then stood back to let him enter. He made it about two feet before he stopped dead in disbelief.

The living room looked like a Star Wars museum had merged with a seven year-old's birthday party. In addition to the dozen Clone Wars balloons that floated above the furniture were three life-sized cutouts. Looming over the couch was a full-sized Darth Vader with a speech bubble stuck to it that read, "I find your lack of health...disturbing..." By the bedroom stood a blaster-toting Princess Leia whose bubble said, "Help me, Marshall Mann. You're my only hope." And the doorway to the kitchen was blocked by a Yoda figure that read cryptically, "Difficult to see. Always in motion is the future." Above his head he noticed a banner that said, "Welcome home you are! Hmm!"

Mary glanced around before commenting unnecessarily, "I guess Barrett's been here."

Marshall just shook his head bemusedly before continuing on to the kitchen to get a drink of water. There, he found that Barrett had been shopping for groceries, too: the fridge was stocked, and the freezer was full of labeled microwave dishes. There was even a bottle of wine with two glasses waiting expectantly on the counter. Not for the first time, he found himself more than a tad regretful that there wasn't something more between them than friendship.

He called her and heard bar noises when she picked up. "Am I interrupting? I just wanted to say thanks for the living room decor and cooking. As usual, I don't know how you come up with these things."

She laughed. "You don't know how much fun I had setting that up, and no, you're not interrupting. We're just out for a drink." There was a mumbled comment in the background, and Barrett added, "Hang on, Patrick wants to talk to you."

Marshall waited for the transfer, moving the phone slightly away from his ear in anticipation of Patrick's booming Barry-White-like tones. "Marshall Mann, my man! How's the leg?"

"It's not a hundred percent, but it's getting there."

"Great, great. Look, I scored two tickets to the Chomsky lecture next month, but the Borg Queen here is going to be out of town that weekend. How about it?"

"Chomsky? I'm there," said Marshall.

"Excellent!" Patrick thundered. "Now I'll finally get to have an intelligent conversation with someone. Ow!"

Barrett took the phone back with a muttered, "He deserved that. For someone who shaves his head once a week, he has a lot of nerve calling _me_ the Borg Queen."

"I know this sounds incredibly trite, but he's lucky he met you."

There was a pause before she said, "Thanks, I appreciate that. But you might recant your statement once you check the bedroom. See ya!"

Hanging up, Marshall crutched his way apprehensively to his bedroom. It was worse than he thought. The bed had been made up with flannel Star Wars sheets, and she had thoughtfully laid out a new pair of black Yoda-print pajamas with "Got Force?" emblazoned across the chest in neon green. Huh. He hadn't realized you could get Star Wars pajamas in Adult Large Tall. On impulse, he checked the bathroom. Yep, Millennium Falcon shower curtain and a new set of "May the Force Be with You" towels. Good lord.

Mary appeared behind him and snorted. "Looks like you're all set, then. For your second childhood."

"Hey, you're never too old for Star Wars sheets." He headed back to the kitchen to open the wine and celebrate being back home.

-

The weekend before Marshall's return to work, Mary shut off the Probe and waited for it to stop dieseling before she climbed out and walked into Il Vicino to pick up her pizza (green chilies and extra garlic). She was early, so she took the hostess up on her suggestion to sit at the bar. Ordering a beer, she looked around at the Saturday night crowd, which was the usual crush of tourists, families, and couples. It was no wonder her order was delayed. She sent Marshall a text to let him know she would be a little late and settled in to enjoy a few minutes to herself.

As her gaze roamed idly around the tables and booths, she suddenly froze: there, seated in an intimate, candle-lit booth, was Barrett, and she wasn't alone. Far from it. It was obvious to Mary even at this distance that they only had eyes for each other. She ground her teeth as she watched Barrett flirting (actually, it was way beyond flirting) with her date.

Clenching her bottle by the neck, Mary considered violence as an option. Marshall had been stuck at home, recovering from a bullet wound, while this bitch went out with someone else. As she glared murderously across the room, fiancee and friend slid out of the booth and moved to the counter to settle up.

They were on the sidewalk when Mary caught up with them, mostly because they had paused for a post-meal suck-face. She said maliciously, "Hi, Barrett! Marshall said you were busy with 'something else' tonight, or I would've invited you to join us for pizza."

Barrett hesitated, working though the tone of Mary's attitude and voice before comprehension dawned. "Oh, uh, hi, Mary. Patrick, this is Mary, Marshall's partner. Mary, this is my friend, Patrick. We've worked together on some projects."

Patrick offered his massive hand. "Nice to meet you, Mary. We're just about to go listen to some music. Can you join us?"

"Gee, Patrick, I'd really _love_ to, but someone has to take care of Marshall. I'll have to take a raincheck."

The couple in front of her exchanged a telepathic glance, and then Patrick said, "Maybe another time, then. I just moved here recently, and Barrett's been kind enough to show me the Albuquerque hot spots."

"I'll bet she has," muttered Mary. Strangely enough, the glare she bestowed on Barrett didn't seem to faze her in the least. Instead, she looked amused. In that minute, Mary actually hated her, where before she had merely been annoyed by her. Without another word, she turned and re-entered the restaurant.

"All righty then," Patrick said, surprised.

"Awkward," agreed Barrett, linking her arm through his and tugging him toward his car just down the block. "She thinks I'm cheating on Marshall with you."

"Ahhhh, got it, got it." Suddenly, Patrick's eyes lit up. "It's my opinion we should give her something to see." He proceeded to pin her against the side of the car and laid on the pseudo-horny act like he was shooting for an AVN award. Over his shoulder, Barrett watched Mary exit Il Vicino with a pizza box and get in her car.

"OK, she's gone," she whispered, when she finally regained ownership of her mouth. "Whew. We should run into her more often."

Patrick released her disappointedly. "I was just getting to the good part, too." He opened the passenger door for her. "Did she see us?"

"Judging by the way she almost tore her door off its hinges, it's safe to say 'yes' to that one."

"So, whaddya think? She tells Marshall or not?"

"Good question. I think she'll sit on it for a while and then let it slip. I suppose I should let him know the engagement's off."

"It was fun while it lasted," said Patrick. He added sadly, "I'm gonna miss sleeping with a woman who's engaged to another man."

-

By the time she arrived at Marshall's, Mary's appetite had evaporated. She stalked through his doorway and slammed the pizza box down on the counter before helping herself to another beer.

"Hello to you, too," her partner called from the living room. "Did they put anchovies on it and piss you off?"

Mary stuck her head around the doorway to regard him. "Um, no...the traffic was bad. The usual stupid drivers." She ducked back into the kitchen and took a deep breath. A few minutes later, she emerged with plates, napkins, forks, and the box of pizza. They sat on the couch in companionable silence watching TV and eating. That is, Marshall ate. Mary picked at her slice, pushing it around on her plate while she tried to decide what to do with her news. She could sense Marshall eyeing her with his peripheral vision.

"So, if it's not anchovies, what is it?" he finally asked.

She kept perforating her mozzarella while she figured out how much to say...or how to say it.

"How are things with Barrett?" she finally asked.

"Fine..." he responded, a little warily. At times like this, Mary was a short-fused Roman candle: he was never sure when she'd go off or in what direction. "Why?"

"Nothing," she said abruptly. She slouched back against the couch and ran her hands through her hair. "I was thinking of getting together with her for coffee tomorrow...you know, just to talk...about stuff."

Marshall looked dubious. "Really?"

"It seems like a good idea...if she's going to be around for a long time. Can you give me her number, so I can set it up?"

"Are you sure you're Mary? Or has Brandi taken over your brain?"

Mary gave him a look. "C'mon, I should get to know her better. We'll spend the whole time talking about you, I promise."

"That sounds...frightening." Against his better judgement, he recited Barrett's number so Mary could enter it into her Blackberry.


	13. Chapter 13

A couple of witness non-emergencies put the stall to Mary's plan for a few days, but she eventually was able to reach Barrett's voicemail one night to leave a message. She got a callback almost immediately.

"Mary, is something wrong? It's not Marshall, is it?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I thought maybe we could get together for coffee or a drink sometime... Hello?"

"Sorry, I was just a little surprised. Sure, we can do that. Are you busy tomorrow? No time like the present." They set up a meeting for drinks at a bar downtown-more like a gang summit on neutral territory, thought Barrett wryly-for the next evening. Ugh. Any way she looked at it, it was going to be painful.

-

It wasn't exactly _High Noon_, but that was the feeling Barrett had as she entered the bar at seven o'clock sharp the next night. Mary hadn't arrived yet, so she grabbed a table near the wall facing the door and waited, drinkless.

Mary arrived a few minutes late and spotted her immediately. She walked over to sit across from Barrett, who stifled a smile at a sudden mental picture of Mary turning the chair around, straddling it, and resting her six-shooter across the back. The server arrived to take their drink order and then beat a retreat from the uncomfortable atmosphere at the table.

"Does this feel as weird and surreal to you as it does to me?" asked Barrett.

Mary ignored her diplomatic overture in favor of the direct approach: "What the hell do you think you're doing, screwing around with someone else while you're engaged to Marshall?"

"I should probably explain that..."

"There's nothing to explain! My best friend's fiancee is screwing another guy! He's in love with you, and it doesn't seem to matter to you!" She couldn't go on.

"Did he say that?" asked Barrett curiously.

"Say what?" gritted Mary.

"Did he say that he _loved_ me?"

Mary was stymied. "Well, no, actually not. But I can tell how he feels about you."

Their beers arrived and sat untouched before them while Mary smoldered and Barrett tried to figure out how to manage the conversation.

"Mary, I have to admit that I'm guilty of giving you the impression that we're engaged."

"I think it was the phrase 'I'm his fiancee' that did it," stated Mary.

"I'll say it straight out: we're are not and never have been engaged. I only said that so I'd be able to visit him while he was in the hospital. That ring is from a former relationship." She waited for the explosion that was due any second now.

"I am going...to...kill...him."

"It wasn't his fault that I put him on the spot; he was just playing along temporarily." Barrett took a swig from her bottle and then continued. "Look, I love Marshall. What's not to love? He's perfect on so many levels, and...I'd do anything for him, any time," she finished simply. "But I'm IN love with Patrick. And while I'm pretty sure Marshall loves me the same way, he's not in love with me, either. He's..." Barrett broke off, displaying sudden interest in her beer label.

"He's what?" prodded his partner.

"He's already committed to someone else. Not available. Taken. Spoken for. Off the market."

"What... who..."

Barrett's rolled her eyes, and her expression was one of undiluted pity for Mary's incredible denseness. "Let's see here... Who does he spend most of his time with? Who does he talk about all the time? Who has the power to raise him up or send him into the depths? Who would he walk into a fire for? Sound like anyone sitting at this table?"

Mary collapsed on the table in a duck-and-cover position. "No, no, no, no..."

Barrett let her stew for a while and drank some more of her beer. This new chocolate stout really was rather excellent. She and Patrick would have to get a case of it.

When Mary finally raised her head, Barrett was surprised to see that she'd been crying. Against her better judgement (and instincts for self-preservation), she reached out and pried open Mary's clenched fist, counting as she spread each finger: "One, he loves you. Two, he'd do anything for you. Three, he respects and admires you. Four, he'd never hurt you. Five, he wants to spend the rest of his life with you."

Mary stared at her hand like it belonged to someone else...someone worthy of being loved. She raised her eyes to Barrett's. "I don't know what to do," she whispered.

"Do? Walk out of here, drive over there, and tell him you feel the same way. Because it's obvious to anyone with eyes in her head that you do."

"It's not that easy. I could never..." she trailed off.

"I think you could. I'll even help, if you want." She smirked. "Surprises are my specialty, in case you hadn't noticed." She switched gears. "Can I ask a personal question?"

Mary gave a half-laugh. "Hey, why not? It's all on the table now, anyway."

"Have the two of you ever, um, kissed? Ever? Other than a peck on the cheek?"

Apparently so, thought Barrett, as Mary covered her face with her hands. Oh, this was gonna be fun...

-

The evening of the Mystery Date, Marshall answered a knock and was taken aback to find Patrick filling his doorway.

"Were we supposed to do something together? Because..."

"No, no. I'm your ride to the your destination. Barrett's tied up with some last-minute prep work, so she sent me."

Marshall grabbed his jacket and locked the door while Patrick bounced energetically on his toes. "I hope your night goes better than my last Mystery Date."

"Why, what happened?" Marshall asked as they walked to Patrick's hybrid.

"She made me go rappelling. Me! Can you picture that? I didn't even know they made harnesses in my size." He added a shiver for effect. "So I'm going to pay her back next week with a trip to the paintball range." He smiled in happy anticipation.

"Yeah, about that..." Marshall started.

"What? She doesn't like guns? Too bad."

"On second thought, the paintball plan is perfect. She'll have no idea what hit her."

The two men headed out into the afterglow of a typically beautiful Albuquerque sunset, catching up on Patrick's activities and Marshall's cultural and culinary suggestions. Eventually, Patrick turned onto a road that looked vaguely familiar, although Marshall couldn't recall when he'd been there before.

They pulled into a driveway and continued on to a large structure, parking on the side. As they got out, Marshall suddenly realized where he was: Bevin's Stables, where he and Mary had apprehended the diamond smuggler who had kidnapped Treena Morris's fiance. Weird coincidence...

"This is where I leave you," said Patrick. "Go with the flow, bro." He motioned for Marshall to enter the main doors of the stables.

Marshall nodded, a bit mystified by Patrick's attitude, and continued toward the lighted opening. As he approached, Barrett came toward him. She stopped in front of him, reached up, and pulled his forehead down for a kiss. "Always in motion is the future," she said seriously, but the glint in her eye belied her tone. "Trust in the Force you should." Releasing him, she stepped around him and walked toward Patrick's car. "Third stall on your right," she tossed over her shoulder.

Totally flummoxed at this point, Marshall watched her hug Patrick. She turned and shooed him into the stables when it looked as though he was frozen to the spot. He walked slowly to the correct stall, made obvious by the red and black streamers dangling over the opening.


End file.
